


His Wicked Ways

by Athenias7294



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:28:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22344097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Athenias7294/pseuds/Athenias7294
Summary: SYNOPSIS: This is a Medieval AU series set during the Norman invasion of England. My intention is a sort of homage to the historical romance “bodice rippers” of the late 70′s and early to mid 80′s. In particular The Wolf and the Dove by Kathleen Woodiwiss and Defy Not the Heart by Joanna Lindsey. If you enjoy this I highly recommend giving both a read.AUTHORS NOTE: I normal try very hard to keep my reader’s features vague. However, I will be describing this reader as having long hair to her waist because it will be an important part of the story later one.AUTHORS NOTE TWO: I apologize if I have made mistakes concerning clothing types, food, furnishings etc.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Reader
Comments: 16
Kudos: 113





	1. Chapter 1

You were going to kill every single one of them. 

The remnants of your household guard lay scattered on the rush covered floor. Their blood arced across the stone walls. None had been spared. 

Yes, you were going to kill every single one of them.

———————————————————————————————————-

Riders had brought word of the Bastard William and his army. You fortified the keep, sending a few of your own men to scout. The Bastard and his Normans were running roughshod over England, hellbent on defeating every last Saxon. 

You waited for the attack but it didn’t come. One week, then two passed. The scouts returned with the news that William had bypassed the smaller holdings, was heading straight for London. 

Your relief, however, was short lived. 

No one had counted on the small bands of soldiers flung out to subdue the countryside. 

There was little warning. Most of your soldiers had been taken by your father, the Earl of Walend, to fight alongside Harold at Hastings. But he had faith in you. 

Motherless, your father had raised you like a son, teaching you how to wield a sword instead of a needle. Your skill was unmatched for leagues. For your eighteenth birthday he had gifted you a fine set of armor. The chain mail had been like silk. 

None of that had mattered. 

You had done your best to hold the keep. In the end there were simply too many. The over-sized doors had splintered under the weight of an oak trunk. Normans poured in. Five men fell to your sword before you were bested. Only a well timed shove from Bolsgar, your Marshal, saved your head from a battle axe. Bolsgar took the blow instead. You had torn off your helmet, hair spilling to your waist. A desperate screech clawed out from your throat. Then all went black. 

———————————————————————————————————–

A feminine scream brought you out of your revere. One of the soldiers had pulled your maid, Synne, to his lap, rough hands groping her breasts, leaving bruises on the tender skin. 

“No,” you bellowed, intending to help the girl. 

Instead you found yourself wrenched to your knees. You whipped around. Hate blazed from your eyes as they locked with their leader. Geralt you had heard him called. 

“What’s the matter little one,” he drawled, “jealous.”

Geralt worked the rope he had looped around your neck, fibers digging into your skin. 

“Go to hell you ill bred brut.”

He threw his head back laughing.

“A wench with fire. Lucky me. Tell me little one, are you as hot in bed as your temper is.”

You raised your hand to slap him but he grabbed it, forcing your arm behind your back. He leaned into you.

“You would do well to watch yourself. Behave or I may decide to give you to my men. I do not think you would be so high and mighty then.”

Without thought you spit on his face. 

Geralt grinned. 

He threw you over his shoulder, the boisterous cheers of his men egging him on.

“To the victor go the spoils,” he shouted carrying you kicking and screaming up the keep stairs.


	2. Chapter 2

Geralt entered the first chamber he came to. Unceremoniously you were dropped on the bed. Scrambling off, you backed away. 

Looking for a weapon your eyes lit on the metal poker leaning against the hearth. Reaching out you snatched it up, a small confidence returning with its weight.

The Norman barred the door, the heavy thud of wood meeting iron reverberated in the air. 

You watched him guardedly as he took in the state of what had been your father’s chamber.

Personal items littered the floor: the chessmen you had spent an entire Winter painstakingly carving lay broken. The top of the finely carved walnut box, that had contained your late mother’s pearl encrusted cross, was torn from its hinges. Your father’s wardrobe and chest were thrown wide, no thought given to the fine materials and papers within. 

There was no doubt your sleeping chamber was in the same disarray. The enemy’s greed knew no bounds. 

Even the gold cross that had hung above the hearth in the great hall had not been spared.

A heavy sigh drew your attention back to the knight. 

With the closing of the door a weariness had settled in. His shoulders slumped, head hung down. 

He was no less intimidating. 

Free of armor, clad only in tunic, braises and chausses, strength radiated from him still. 

You watched as he pulled his tunic over his head. 

Enemy or not there was no denying what a fine specimen he was. His chest was broad, a smattering of hair leading down to his tapered hips. When he began to work on the ties of his braises you quickly ducked your head. While it was normal for the wife or daughter of an earl to bath male guests, your father had chosen not to tempt the fates. As a result, your knowledge of the male body was based on what you had managed to hear eavesdropping on the female servants. 

Eventually curiosity got the best of you. Peeking through your lashes you couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped. The way Maida and Haylan had spoken you had expected to see something small and rather wrinkled. 

That wasn’t the case here. Geralt was large. You doubted your hand would be able to fully encircle it. And, if the women were to be believed, it would only get bigger. 

“Do you like what you see little one .”

Geralt’s words brought flames to your face. You hadn’t meant to look for so long, nor to get caught doing so. 

“No,” you spat out.

“You could’ve fooled me m’lady. One normally does not admire something for so long without wanting it.”

You lifted your chin. 

“I think not. I was merely trying to confirm the rumor that Norman’s are lacking compared to our fine, strong Saxon men.”

Geralt chuckled.

“And just how would you know of your fine, strong Saxon men. Despite your manner of dress and actions today, I still assumed you were a virgin.”

“Why would you assume that.”

“I was told you were the Earl’s daughter. There was no mention of a husband or of widowhood. Unless you have taken to whoring in your father’s absence, your maidenhead is still intact.”

He stepped toward you.

“For how long is yet to be seen.”

The threat hung in the air between the two of you. 

“Why do you wear your hair long,” you asked, desperate to change the subject, “I thought all Normans preferred their hair short.”

Smiling at your stalling tactic Geralt answered.

“My mother was Saxon. I wear it for her.”

The look in his eyes at the mention of his mother gave you a chance for revenge.

“Was your mother a peasant whore or a high born one who laid with a Norman?”

Your words had barely left your mouth before the back of Geralt’s hand connected with your face. The blow knocked you to the floor. 

He knelt, gripping your chin in his calloused hand. 

“You seem to know much of whores and their ways. Let’s see just how much.”

His eyes never leaving yours, his free hand dropped to your waist. You had donned your clothing and armor hastily for battle. In the rush you had left the ties on your braises loose. His hand slipped easily underneath.

“Am I the first to touch you here m’lady.”

Geralt’s hand slid lower. You jolted when his finger slipped between your folds.

Expertly he worked you, his thumb teasing your clit with slow circles. Gradually you became aware of a wetness between your legs. He noticed as well.

You tried to push him away. His hand left your chin and captured both arms, holding them tightly against his chest.

There was a fullness as the Norman inserted a finger into your core. His thumb drew circles around your nub as his finger slowly moved back and forth. 

His attempt at adding a second finger brought a pained squeak from you.

“Not a whore after all. I will have to remember that.”

A heat grew as Geralt’s thumb and finger increased speed.

Your breathing became labored. Suddenly a wave of pleasure overwhelmed you, like nothing you had ever experienced. Your entire body shook with sensation. 

When you calmed Geralt pulled his hand free. Licking his fingers he smiled.

“If I had known how eager you were for me I would not have tarried with my men so long.”

Shame at your behavior overwhelmed you.

“Bastard,” You hissed.

He grabbed your head, slammed it to the flagstone floor. Tears formed in your eyes. 

“By both actions and birth little one. You would do well to remember that. I have no family that I must answer to. My life is my own to live. I answer only to William.”

Geralt stood. He yanked out the chain that had held the lock on your fathers chest. Seizing your ankle he dragged you towards him. 

“No,” you screamed.

You kicked out with your free foot. Your heel caught his shin and he let go. Frantically you stood and ran for the door. There was little chance you could lift the bar but you had to try. 

“HOLD.”

His voice bounced from the walls.

You turned to face him, tears now freely flowing down your face. 

“Come here.”

He crooked his finger at you. 

“No. I will not walk freely to my death.”

Geralt sighed, “Stupid wench.”

In four strides he had crossed the room. His hand snagged in your hair. He pulled you back to the foot of the bed. 

You closed your eyes waiting for the first blow.

Instead of the beating you thought would follow the Norman bent down and looped the chain around your ankle. He reached over, gathered a handful of pelts. Tossing them on the floor he walked around you. Geralt climbed into the bed. In shock you continued to stand.

“If you do not wish me to ride you like a broodmare tonight I suggest you lay down.”

Knowing his was not an empty threat you quickly laid down arranging the pelts in a nest. Staring into the dying fire you wondered what tomorrow would bring.


	3. Chapter 3

You awoke to the chattering of your teeth. The embers had died during the night leaving a chill that had settled into your bones. By the thin light coming through the hide covered window you could make out the empty bed. For a moment you allowed yourself to sink back under the furs, pretending the night past had been nothing but a bad dream.

“Get up girl! You can’t sleep when our people need you. I raised you better than this, did I not.”

Your father’s voice rang in your head as if he was standing next to you. Tears started to form. You hoped against all hope that he was still alive. But he was right, you thought as you threw back the furs. The well-being of the people and land belonged to you now.

Looking down you decided your first task was changing clothes. Carefully you made your way out of your father’s chamber and down the hall. Just as you had suspected yours was in no better shape. The few gowns you owned were scattered across the floor. Your eyes caught sight of the maroon velvet over-gown your father had especially purchased for your wedding day. Not that there had been a groom to go with it, no matter how much your father had tried. You had no interest in marriage. Without a mother the only experience you had with matrimony was your servants and the villagers. You had seen Maida, your ladies maid, consoling and patching up too many wives to ever want to be in the position. 

Granted not all men were monsters. Maida’s husband had been a kind, generous man. But enough of them were and, while you could protect yourself, most husbands would frown on a wife who wore a sword. 

Picking up the gown you noticed the tiny rubies that had dotted the neckline had been roughly prised loose. Greedy bastards. The jewels were no more than slivers, not worth much, but even they hadn’t been spared. 

Searching through the mess you found your brown wool gown. Stripping, you noticed the dried blood that covered your arms. No doubt your face was streaked with it as well. Miraculously there was water left in the small basin. Shivering with its iciness, you scrubbed until your skin burned. You pulled the gown over your head, an over-gown of black followed. On a whim you felt underneath the sweet grass filled mattress. 

When your hand closed on your small eating dagger you almost cried in relief. Unlike other daggers of its kind, yours was simple in design, the only embellishment the family crest. And it was sharp as hell. Gingerly you used the blade to tear a small hole in your gown just big enough to catch the hilt. You tugged the over gown back into place and braided your hair, tossing the heavy length over your shoulder. Leaving your chamber you took a deep breath and descended the stairs.

What you saw was beyond horror. Armor clang as it was chucked in the corner before the dead were callously hurled from the hall. The Norman’s laughter snapped something inside you. You flew down the stairs, a scream of rage careening off the stone walls. 

“What are you doing. Do you not have any decency.”

Grabbing the first man you came to, you whipped the dagger from its hiding place and placed the tip against his neck. 

“Leave our dead be. We will tend to them ourselves.”

You pressed the dagger in just enough to draw a noticeable drop of blood. 

The knights glanced at each other, unsure of what to do. 

“Get out now,” you dug the blade in deeper.

“ENOUGH.”

A large hand encircled yours applying pressure until you thought your bones would break. With a yelp you dropped the weapon. Whirling around you came face to face with Geralt.

“Let me go. Now.”

Geralt stared you down.   
“I think not little one.”

He picked up your dagger, placed it in his belt.

“Care to tell me why you attacked my man.”

“Your men,” the word dripped with derision, “are nothing but cur dogs, lower than the belly of snakes in the swamp.”

You spat on the floor in punctuation. 

“Yes, well, I imagine that was already your opinion.”

His grip tightened.

“Tell me why you attacked my man.”

“They cannot even allow the dead their dignity.”

You choked back a sob.

“Please, please allow us to bury our dead. They fought with honor. They deserve better than to be tossed out like garbage.”

Geralt released his hold. You cradled your arm, rubbing your wrist. Bruises were already forming. 

“Let them tend to the dead.”

He pointed at two of his men. 

“Gowain. Anslem. Gather what men are left in the village. Set them to digging graves.”

“No. We can do the task ourselves.”

He nodded. 

“Then get on with it before they start to stink.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was late afternoon by the time the dead had been tended to. The women of the village had come, searching for their men. It had not been only soldiers who had fallen. Farmers, skilled artisans and even the stable boys had joined the household guards in the fight. The wails of anguish broke your heart. 

“M’lady.”

You turned and found Haylan, the woodsmiths wife, beside you. Her eyes were stained red with grief.

“Oh Haylan, not Edgar.”

Haylan rung her hands. 

“Yes M’lady.”

You hugged the new widow.

“I am so very sorry Haylan. Edgar was a brave man, a fine man.”

The woman swiped at her tears.

“Yes, he was. I will miss him.”

She glanced back. A crowd had formed behind her.  
“M’lady, we were wondering if a priest will be summoned from Darkenwald. To bless the dead.”

You hung your head. Since the death of Father Wolfrid you had been left with no priest in residence. Father Godric had served both villages in his absence. Certainly the Normans would have enough respect to not kill a man of God.

“I will make sure of it,” you spoke as you patted her hand, “It may not be for a few days but a priest will bless the graves.”

Haylan nodded her head.

“Thank you M’lady. Thank you.”

She joined the group, relaying your promise. 

“Please God do not make it a false promise,” you muttered under your breath.

Straightening your shoulders you headed back inside in search of Geralt. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You found him engrossed in a conversation with his men. Biting back your pride you called for his attention.

“Lord Geralt.”

When he did not reply you swallowed the bile that had risen in your throat.

“M’lord. May I have a word. Please.”

He acknowledged you with a glance. After a few minutes he left his men making his way to you. 

“I know addressing me as such cost you dearly little one.”  
He reached out and tucked an errant strand of hair behind your ear. 

“How can I be of service.”

“A priest. The dead require a priest.”

“You really do have a low opinion of me, don’t you. I will not prevent your priest from blessing the graves. I have need of him myself. As you well know.”

In your grief you had forgotten the Normans had suffered casualties as well. Several of them at your hand. You clenched your jaw to hide a small smile.

“There is a problem M’lord. Our priest recently passed away. The nearest man is at Darkenwald. He would need to be sent for.”

Geralt sighed.

“I cannot spare the men to fetch the priest.”

“Please M’lord. The dead cannot lay unblessed. It is a small thing I ask.”

He brought his hand to your face, caressed your cheek. 

“And what do you offer in exchange for this favor.”

“Nothing,” you hissed, “I offer nothing.”

“Not even for a priest,” he asked.

“No.”

“I believe I will enjoy breaking you little one,” he smiled, “You can assure the villagers that their dead will be blessed. Once my men and I are firmly ensconced here I will send for him.”  
His hand cupped your breast, the pad of thumb swiping your nipple. You stared straight ahead, denying him a reaction.

Leaning to your ear he whispered, “I will take that as payment for my good deed.”

Chuckling Geralt left to rejoin his men. You hesitated a moment before fleeing the hall. You didn’t stop running until you were deep in the woods. With a sob you broke down. Tears flowed freely down your cheeks. No man had dared as much with you and your person. A stolen kiss here and there, maybe, but never that. You would have gelded any man who dared. 

You dropped to the ground, wrapping your arms around your knees. Damn William for his greed. If not for his aspirations your father would still be here. And this nightmare would not have been brought to your door. 

The crunching of leaves tore you from your revere. 

“Who’s there.”

Fear shot down your spine. For the first time you realized how alone, and defenseless, you were. If one of Geralt’s men came looking for you there was little chance you would escape unscathed. 

“Show yourself.”

A shadowed figure stepped out from the trees. You immediately recognized him as one of the knights who had accompanied your father. 

“Bryce.”

You jumped up, rushed to him, threw your arms around his neck. 

“Oh my God. I am so glad to see you. I feared you were all dead.”

Turning your head you searched the trees.

“Who else is with you. Is my father here. Where are the rest of the men.”

“Lady (Y/N), I, I am sorry. Your father, he fell.”

Your mind refused to comprehend the words.

“He was injured,” you questioned.

“No, no M’lady. He was mortally wounded on the field. I, I am sorry.”

“Did he die with,” you took a deep breath, “Did he die with honor.”

“Yes M’lady. He died defending his King.”

Bryce reached into a pouch tied to his belt. 

“Here,” he placed your father’s signet ring in your hand, “He wanted me to give you this. He said it was up to you to defend Walend now.”

“Oh Bryce,” you cried, “I have already failed him. The Normans attacked yesterday. I did my best but it was not good enough.”

The man turned pale. 

“Hylnn. Is,” he voice cracked, “Is she alive.”

“Yes,” you assured him, “Your wife is well. But many others are not. Bolsgar, Sveen, Camdene, they are all gone. Men from the village joined the defense. Many of them died also. The bastards even slayed the squires and stable boys.”

“My God.”  
“They are animals Bryce. Nothing more.”

Noise from the keep drew your attention.

“You cannot stay here. They will kill you on sight.”

You thought for a minute.

“Haylan. Her cottage is not far from here but it is far enough away from the keep you should be safe. She will welcome you. Her husband was among the dead.”

“I will not leave you M’lady. There are still Saxon strongholds in the North. We can join them until William is defeated.”

You chewed your lip. It was tempting to flee. Geralt would not leave you unmolested. He would pounce sooner rather than later. You pushed that thought aside. 

“I cannot leave Bryce. My father entrusted Walend to me. I failed him once. I will not do so a second time.”

You continued before he could protest. 

“Go to Haylan. I will send Hylnn and then bring what food I can from the larder.”

Bryce opened his mouth but you stopped him again.

“Please, go. You cannot convince me to leave and we are wasting time.”

The knight knew better than to argue further. The only thing more well known than your skill with a blade was your stubborn nature. Reluctantly he left, making his way toward the newly widowed Haylan’s cottage. You hurried back to the keep, a small prayer forming on your lips.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The scene that welcomed you was almost surreal. The great hall had been cleaned, the blood scrubbed from the walls, furniture righted and in its’ place, new rushes with sprigs of lavender mixed in covered the floor. Maida and Synne, her bodice held together with crude stitches, and Han served the Normans who had seated themselves at the long table, Geralt at the head. 

Quickly you walked across the hall. You stuck to the shadows, hoping to avoid notice. Once inside the larder you stuffed a few loaves of bread, some salted pork, and a handful of dried apples into a bag. Reaching behind a shelf your fingers touched on a small leather pouch. Your father had shown you the hiding place before he left. Inside were eight silver coins. You debated keeping a few for yourself but in the end you returned them all to the pouch, adding it to the bag. You had little need for the coin now. Bryce, Haylan and Hylnn would need it far more. 

You cracked the door making sure the Normans were still at the table. Quietly you slipped past them and out into the chilly night. 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You were out of breath by the time you reached Haylan’s cottage. 

“Haylan, open the door. It’s me.”

The widow opened the door beckoning you in. Hylnn had arrived and sat next to her husband, their hands intertwined. 

“It is not much but all I dared take.”

You handed the bag to Bryce. His eyes widened when he found the pouch.

“We cannot take this. It is all you have left.”

“You have more need than I. Now you must move quickly. Avoid the main road as much as possible. Haylan knows the forest well. She can guide you.”

Hastily the four of you placed the items on blankets, rolling them up and securing them to their persons. 

“Are you sure you will not join us M’lady,” Hylnn asked. 

You swung the door open.

“I am sure. Remember, stick to the woods and…….”

Haylan screamed. 

In the doorway stood Geralt with three of his men.

Bryce drew his sword, pushing Hylnn behind him. 

In shock you allowed Geralt to push you aside. He spoke directly to the knight.

“Drop your weapon and surrender or die.”

Haylan continued her screaming.

“Shut her up,” Geralt shouted. 

Anselm backhanded the woman, knocking her to the ground. In a rage you attacked Geralt. He easily deflected your assault. He held you at arm's length and repeated his demand.

“Drop your weapon and surrender or die.”

With no real choice Byrce dropped his sword. Geralt’s men seized him, pulling him from the cottage. Hylnn and Haylan swayed together, both women crying softly.

“Anselm, stay and guard the cottage. If either of them try to leave slit their throats.”

“Nooooooo,” you screamed, “They had nothing to do with this. It was my plan, my fault.”

Geralt buried his fingers in your hair, pulled you close.

“You are in enough trouble little one. I suggest you keep your mouth closed.”

Refusing to comply you continued your tirade.

“They did nothing wrong. Leave them be.”

“Fuck,” Geralt swore under his breath.

“Anselm stay. Gowain, take him to the stables. Secure him and stand guard. I have a pressing matter to deal with.”

Tightening his grip in your hair Geralt drug you back to the keep and up the stairs. Unable to match his stride he drug you most of the way. Inside the sleeping chamber he grabbed a hold of a toppled chair, set it right, sat down then pulled you over his knees. Your hair hung like a curtain blocking your view. 

You gasped when he pushed your gown up over your ass.

“What are you doing,” you shrieked.

“Punishing you.”

“Punishing me. What for. I did nothing wrong.

The first strike caught you off guard. 

“Did nothing wrong huh.”

Another strike fell.

“What do you call stealing food and money then running off to help two of my servants and an enemy knight escape.”

And another. 

“I did no such thing. The food and money are mine. Haylan and Hylnn are free women and…”

And another.

Your exposed cheeks were on fire.

“Everything here now belongs to me, including you.”

Geralt stood, dragging you to the bed. Grabbing you by the back of your neck he threw you down, holding you still.

You heard a rustle behind you. To your utter terror you felt his cock brush your thigh. You tried to kick out but he knocked your legs apart, stepping between them.

“It’s time you learned your place little one.”

“No please, stop, please,” you begged.

You heard him spit and felt it hit your exposed pussy.

“It is far too late for that.”

With a grunt Geralt thrust into you. 

You screamed. 

He pulled out only to push back in. His hand reached under you, found your clit. He circled the nub. Your body slowly settled, growing used to the painful stretch. Until he moved. The friction seared your insides.

“Please stop. It hurts.”

“I know it does little one. If you had been a good girl I would have prepared your body, made it easier for you.”

He pumped in and out.

“But naughty girls get punished. Be grateful I am being this gentle.”

The pressure on your clit increased. A tingly feeling started to spread outward.

Geralt picked up his pace. It wasn’t as painful as before. You whimpered softly. 

His hand left your clit.

“Oh no you don’t. You will get no pleasure from this.”

Over and over he invaded your body, each thrust creating a tendril of pleasure that had you searching for something you could not identify. 

“Apologize for stealing and I can make you feel unimaginably good little one .”

“No,” you gritted out.

“FIne.”

His rhythm became punishing. 

“How about now M’lady. Ready to say you are sorry yet.”  
“If this is the worst you can do I will never apologize,” you spat.

Geralt pulled out. His voice was dangerously low when he spoke.

“No M’lady.”

He snapped his hips and pushed past the tight ring, burying himself in your ass.

“This is the worst I can do.”

Your scream was deafening. The pain was excruciating. You wanted to beg him to stop but words refused to form. 

Over and over he rutted into you, your sobbing urging him on.

Finally he stiffened. A warm flush filled you as he came. He withdrew from your battered hole.

Fastening his pants, he walked towards the door.

“Do not leave this room. I am far from finished with you M’lady.”

Geralt slammed the door leaving you bleeding and broken on the bed. 

AUTHORS NOTE 3: I borrowed two plot points from The Wolf and the Dove. The first was the treatment of the dead and the need for a priest. The second was the reader helping a man who returned. I used the points as a frame and filled in my own version. Numerous details have been changed, however, I wanted to acknowledge my use of the existing work.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no proofreading of this chapter. I apologize for any and all mistakes.

It wasn’t long before Geralt returned. You hadn’t moved since he left. Not an inch. 

“Cover yourself.”

He seized a handful of furs, tossing them at you. There was barely time to arrange them before two squires stumbled in. They wore yokes with buckets of steaming water hanging from each end. In turn they dumped the water into a large wooden bathing tub. It had been another gift from your father, an attempt to buy your approval of a proposed marital union. Knowing what you did now you regretted not accepting. 

It took the young men four more trips to fill it to their leaders’ satisfaction. With them gone Geralt leisurely undressed. Having no wish to see him naked again you turned your head away.

His soft laughter mocked you.

“Oh come now M’lady. You were once so keen to see if I measured up to your expectations.No reason to be shy now.”

You wanted to scream, to cry, to curse his ancestors but you didn’t. Instead you continued to lay still, eyes screwed tightly shut. 

WHACK

Your eyes flew open with the impact of his hand on your ass. A scream of pain echoed through the chamber. 

“I require your assistance at my bath.”

When you made no effort to move he grabbed you by the hair. Yanking you from the bed he dragged you across the room. 

“I will only repeat myself this one time. As you are now well aware disobedience will be punished. 

He sunk down into the tub. The washing cloth hit your chest. Water dripped down between your breasts. 

You considered throwing the rag at his head and running. No doubt he could overpower you however you would almost bet you could run faster especially if he was naked and wet. It was the “almost” that prevented your flight. Besides even if you did manage to outrun him there was no place for you to go. 

There might be asylum to be found in the North but there you had no chance of making it alone with no provisions. And under no circumstance would you endanger your people by seeking refuge with them. You had no choice.

Picking up the cloth you moved closer to the tub. A cake of soap laid on the short stool next to the tub. You scooped some of it up and began to scrub his back.

“If you would be so kind as to leave some skin on my back I would greatly appreciate it.”

You looked down. His back was a criss-cross of angry red marks. A smile tugged at your lips. Standing you dropped the rag into the water. The resulting splash covered his face and upper body. The droplets glittered on his chest hair. He reached up, wiping the water away. 

“Your back is finished.”

You turned to walk away.

“Oh no little one. Your task is not finished yet.”

The soaked rag hit the back of your gown.

“I am quite the lazy man tonight. I require your assistance to wash…..everywhere.”

Gritting your teeth you picked up the rag. Once back at the tub you scrubbed his arms and chest, looking anywhere but at him. He lifted his legs one at a time so you could reach him from knees to toes. There was no wonder you had not been able to best him with a sword. Up close his heavily muscled body was even more impressive. A few errant scars dotted his skin. You held back an insane urge to trace them.

Disgusted by your thought, you set about washing his hair. With no care for the mess it made you dumped a bucket of water over his head and worked more soap into it. He was still sputtering from the downpour as you dumped another bucket to remove the suds. 

“If I did not know better I would swear you were trying to drown me woman.”

“The idea does have some merit M’lord.”

“I know how you loathe addressing me as such. You know my name. Use it.”

“As you wish, Geralt.”

“Much better. Now finish your task. The water is growing cool.”

Knowing there was only his lower half to wash, your face grew hot with embarrassment. 

“I, I can not.”

“I do not remember giving you a choice.”

Squaring your shoulders you retraced your steps. Wanting to get it over, you applied more soap and plunged the rag under the water. You scrubbed his hips and thighs first, then his ass when , he lifted up. Finally the only part left was his member. Determined to finish you gripped it tightly, rubbing the cloth up and down. 

“Ummmm.”

His moan caught you off guard. You dropped the rag and scrambled backward. He had a pained look on his face.

“Did I…..hurt you,” you whispered.

Geralt replied tightly, “Quite the opposite.”

Standing, he stepped out of the tub and snagged a folded drying cloth from the pile next to the tub, wrapping it around his waist.

“Your turn.”

Even tinted brown with dirt and cold the bath looked inviting. Unfortunately that would mean undressing, something you did not care to do.

“I would rather not.”

Geralt sighed heavily.

“I did not ask what you would rather. I told you to get in the tub. I can smell you from here.”

If you had been any other woman the comment may have stung. As it was you were used to smelling. A life lived out of doors, training with men tended to leave a stench. 

You chanced a quick glance at the man. His arms were crossed across his wide chest, a stern look stamped on his face. 

“Do you need a reminder of what happens if you defy me.”

You shook your head. Presenting your back to him, you hastily drew you gowns over your head. A deft flip secured your hair in a coil. While it would be heavenly to wash your locks, it would take hours to completely dry. You had no desire to spend more time naked than you had to.

You sat down in such a rush water spilled over the top. Ducking down until only your head was visible you took a clean cloth and vigorously began to scrub. Washing underwater was not the best way to get clean however it did keep your body hidden. 

Once finished you lingered in the tub trying to work up the courage to get out. The water was freezing, your skin puckered.

“Bram and Guy will be returning any moment to dump the water. Unless your wish is to put on a show for the lads I suggest you get out.”

As if his words had summoned them there was a knock on the door. Squeaking you jumped up. Hurriedly you flung a drying towel over your shoulders, pulling it tightly around your body. 

Geralt smirked at you. Your fingers itched with the desire to hurl something at him.

“Come.”

The door opened, admitting the squires. You paid little attention until Geralt was suddenly in front of you. Not sure of his actions you looked up. The two young men were staring at you. You burned from head to toe at the realization that had been looking at you. The wet cloth had done nothing to conceal your figure.

“Finish task before I have you both flogged.”

Properly chastised they removed the tub. 

Once the squires were gone you set about drying yourself. You were just about to slip your gown back over your head when Geralt spoke.

“No.”

You looked at him questioningly. 

“M’lord.”

“I have asked you to use my name. Now leave the gown where it is.”

“But M’lord, I mean Geralt I will freeze on the floor.”

Panic rose at the thought.

“Please, if you want me dead there are faster ways. Run me through with your sword if you must, at least it will be quick.”

Sighing again, Geralt seized your arm. He drug you to the bed. 

“I have no plans to kill you, yet. Your chattering teeth disturbed my sleep last eve. I have no desire to listen to the racket again.”

He pushed you onto the bed. You crawled as far away as you could. Like a rabbit waiting for a hawk to strike you waited for his attack. Instead he turned away from you, blew out the candles and settled in. 

Carefully you slid under the furs so as to not disturb him, determined to stay awake. Eventually exhaustion overtook you. Your eyes closed, your breathing matching his.

————————————————————————————————————————–

You were roused from your sleep by Geralt’s searching hand. He pulled you to him, one hand around your throat, the other on your stomach, your back snugged tightly to his chest. 

“It seems I still cannot sleep little one. Perhaps,” his hand skimmed down your belly, “I can find a way to exert some energy.”

His finger slipped into your slit. Tenderly he circled your clit, dipping into your cunt to collect the sudden wetness that had formed.

“No, please, not again. Please,” you begged.

Geralt tightened his grip on your throat. 

“Shhh. I have no wish to hurt you. Be good and I promise you will find your pleasure too.”

His hand left your folds only to return after he draped your leg over his. You felt him at your entrance. In one swift thrust he entered you. 

“Stop, please,” you whined, “It hurts.”

“There is much bliss to be found in pain M’lady.”

Slowly he began to move, rocking into you. His finger resumed its motion on your clit. When he swiped his thumb across the swollen nub you gasped.

“I told you it would feel good,” he whispered in his ear. 

His pace increased. The tingly feeling returned, more urgent than before. 

“Geralt, please,” you whimpered, uncertain of what you needed, knowing only that he could provide it. 

“Hold on little one.”

A few more swipes and your body shuddered. Waves of ecstasy rolled over you, your body curling into his, craving more.

He bent you forward, pounding into your cunt. His hand left your clit, pulled your leg back further, granting him better access. Your core tightened again, then spiralled with your release. Still in a fog you felt him stutter. He shouted as he came, coating you with his warm cum.

Pulling you back against his chest, his hand rested once again on your belly, his breath heavy in your ear. 

“There is more of a whore in you than I thought. Methinks I will find no boredom here.”

“Oooohhhh you bastard,” you shrieked. 

Climbing over him you stomped to the end of the bed. Grabbing the furs you flopped down on the floor.

“Come now little one, do not be like that,” he laughed.

“Leave me be.”

“You will freeze down there.”

“That is preferable to sharing a bed with you.”

Geralt laughed louder. The sound grated on your nerves. 

“Fine. Freeze then. Take care not to wake me when you have tired of your tantrum.”

He turned his back to you. Moments later his snores filled the room. 

Trying your best to stay warm, you drew into a fetal position. Closing your eyes an uneasy sleep set in.

———————————————————————————————————

A gentle shaking at your shoulder stirred you from your troubled sleep.

“M’lady.”

Rolling over you found Maida kneeling next to you. 

“Oh M’lady, what, what happened.”

You knew her reaction was due to the bruising around your neck. You supposed you should consider yourself lucky she could not see lower. Not wanting her pity you ignored her question.

“What is it Maida.”

“M’lady. More Norman soldiers have arrived.”

Her fear was evident.

“Do not worry. We will stay here together until Geralt has dealt with them.”

Maida shook her head.

“But M’lady, he has left to fetch the priest. Their leader is asking to speak with you.”


	5. Chapter 5

At Maida’s words your spine tightened. Fear fell away, resolution to protect your people taking its place.  
“How many. Are they armed for battle.”

Maida recognized your tone.

It was that of the warrior your father had raised you to be. No doubt if your armor was available still you would be donning it now instead of your gown. 

“Only two have entered. They carry no weapons.”

“Only two,” you questioned.

‘Yes, M’lady, just the two.”

You noticed the slight tremor in Maida’s voice. 

“Do not be afraid. If they meant harm they would have done so already. They are probably lackeys of William, too cowardly to fight if they carry no weapons.”

Silently praying you were right you squared your shoulders. 

Squeezing Maida’s hand for courage the two of you left the bedchamber and descended the staircase. 

Every step was a reminder of Geralt’s brutal use of your body. 

There were not enough vile epitaphs for the bastard. If only….

“Lady Y/N, I presume.”

A man’s voice cut your thoughts short. 

Two men stood in the middle of the hall. 

Both were tall and well muscled, though not as wide of shoulder as Geralt. 

Their hair was clipped close in the Norman fashion, one blonde, the other brunette.

The blonde’s eyes were a clear, dark blue, his nose narrow, slightly crooked, perhaps from some well landed fist. His lips were full, sinfully formed.

The brunette was the opposite with dark brown eyes flecked with black, their tone changing in the light. His lips were thin and curved producing a slight sardonic effect. He was the shorter of the two but only by an inch or so. 

While not dressed for battle it was still clear they were knights of William.

“I am she,” your voice rang out true.

The blonde one spoke.

“I am called Vachel. This is my cousin Louis. We asked to speak with Earl Walend. Instead we were informed of his passing.”

Despite your best effort tears began to form in your eyes.

“My father died defending King Harold at Hastings.”

Vachel shook his head.

“You have my deepest sympathies, Lady Walend. War is a burden that oftimes falls hardest on the shoulders of innocents.”

Momentarily taken aback by the unexpected kindness your next words were unguarded.

“What business would a Norman knight have with my Father besides death.”

“After landing at Pevensey William sent myself and other Knights of good standing to negotiate terms of surrender with the smaller Keeps on the way to London.”

“What,” your voice cracked, “what terms.”

“William desperately wants to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. It is his most Christian wish to fulfill his destiny with as little damage to the populace as possible. I was to offer a peaceful transition of power if the Saxon leaders laid down their arms and pledged fealty to William. They, their families and those attached to the Keeps would be allowed to continue as before.”

Vachel paused.

“There would, of course, have been need for a small permanent garrison of Normans stationed at each Keep to ensure both sides of the surrender were honored. It is the hope that Saxon and Norman will come together for the greater good.”

Glancing around the Hall Vachel sighed.

“Judging from what I have witnessed it appears, however, that I have arrived too late.”

Your face fell in shock.

“Geralt offered no terms. He offered nothing except murder and rape.”

Your voice rose steadily in anger.

“I would have accepted those terms to protect my people.”

Vachel grasped your hand in his. 

“M’Lady I take the blame for what has happened here. Geralt’s depravity is well known, even to William, though he still favors the bastard Knight. My men and I were delayed by a storm. It would appear in my absence Geralt took what he wanted.”

Hope sparked inside you.

“Then you can make him leave, can you not. I will pledge fealty to William if he leaves.”

“Nay, I can not.”

“But there must be a way Sir Vachel.”

Desperation bled through your words.

“Geralt and his men will destroy us all if he stays. There will never be peace between us.”

“As much as I despise Geralt and his ways he is a Norman. I can not fight against a fellow Knight.”

Vachel reached out, lifting your chin.

“But all hope may not be lost yet. Let me think on this. There may still be a solution.”

Before you could reply the Knight spoke again.

“If possible could me and my men find refreshment here. We have ridden hard for two days with little rest or food. They are waiting just outside the forest. I found no need to frighten your people further. You have my word my men will leave all unmolested.”

Trying to hide your frustration you motioned the two men towards the large, scarred trestle table. 

“Please make yourself comfortable. I will see you and your men are served food and drink.”

Louis watched the soft sway of your hips as you walked away.

“What game do you play at Cousin. Your deepest sympathies. It was you who dealt the death blow to the old Earl. I saw it with my own eyes. And what is this nonsense of surrender and delay. We both know Walend Keep was long promised to Geralt.”

“Lower your voice,” Vachel hissed.

“The stupid wench knows no difference from what I told her. William chooses that bastard over me, a Knight of good family. It makes my blood boil to think I have nothing to show for my service to the King. This Keep should be mine.”

“Geralt is well ensconced here. William would frown upon his knights fighting amongst themselves.”

“Tis true Louis. However, William seeks a smooth transition. What better way to ensure that than through a marriage.”

“Geralt will never marry the woman. He leaves them almost as broken and battered as you.”

“Not him, you imbecile. A marriage with me. The wench goes with the Keep, the Keep goes with the wench.”

“But how….”

“Never you mind the details Louis. Just stand ready. I will have this Keep and the wench before the New Year.”


End file.
